


Catabolic Seed

by Dildo_Swaggins_T_Baggins



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Brutal Murder, Deadlock needs theraphy, Drift bby needs some TLC, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Fights, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Pharma is a POS, Ratchet needs some TLC, Regret, Sad Ending, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, not the main focus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dildo_Swaggins_T_Baggins/pseuds/Dildo_Swaggins_T_Baggins
Summary: The deadend is not kind place for mechs, it never has been. But some say if you can make it out of there you can go anywhere. Drift is nothing, he was a spare, a back up, and now he's wasting away in an alleyway waiting for his spark to return the well. However, he's not quiet ready to die and a young stubborn medic won't give up hope. Ratchet knows that Drift is far more then the deadlock he believes, or his professor says the man is. His professor is determined to prove otherwise.AU where Ratchet is a young promising Medical student, and Drift is an older down on his luck street bot
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, Pharma/Ratchet (Transformers), Toxic - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	Catabolic Seed

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I cried over 5 hours writing this.  
> A few things to note:  
> This is a first chapter into a series, that will be explored later on.  
> Do expect to see Thunderclash/Rodimus in later installments (let me be happy!)
> 
> Also fic is based off this song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4bTKD6flSE

Sting, the venomous sting of copper graces his intake, it lurks around his top denta, the outside. Delicately his tongue dances over his crooked denta again, he sucks it down the thick coppery taste, it tingles on his tongue and slips down his throat, it’s not copper, he hasn’t had copper in his whole life, this is how he imagines it would taste like.

The base of his neck hurts, it’s cold and sticky, he imagines the long digits moving through his frame like smoke, curling and slipping through his plates, down to his protoform and finally circling his spark.

His frame wobbles, he can’t exactly tell anymore, the world shifts and now his optics stare up at the sky above him, the three suns burning brightly, he knows if he stares long enough he’ll need new optics, new optics would be nice, yellow wasn’t his color.

The trails of smoke filter through his ventilations, slipping deeper into his systems, teasing each one to slow and then stop, a chill creeps through his frame, putting an omen on each piece of him, a warning that he would still, that he would still.

He tries not to think about what would happen to his frame, would he be forgotten in this alleyway, or would he be hidden under piles of rubbish, maybe some younger bots would scrap his parts. Maybe someone would finally find him, who would find his still frame first? A femme down on her luck? A mechling who never had a chance? Would they scream? Would they push him aside?

They wouldn’t cry, who would cry over him?

Maybe he should write a will? Something? Something for someone to read.

A laugh bubbles out of his intake, its cracked, broken, and squeaks, a horrid sound, another omen of what is to come.

He doesn’t know how to write, he didn’t need to learn it, he didn't need to learn how to read. It was a comforting thought when he was younger, to learn, see the world, his world, the one he was thrown in. Now all he has is this alleyway, it wasn’t special, just a quiet alleyway, like any other it was dirty, caked with grime and tags. A perfect alleyway for him.

He can’t feel his digits anymore, or his peds, the smoke crawls through his frame, towards his spark, bit by bit his frame becomes dead weight and his processor pings with errors, he pushes them away staring up at the three suns.

He can’t write, but he can still think, maybe he could read his own will to himself? Might as well.

_I guess I might as well start, not like I have all the time in the world...How do these start? I think my name? I’m D-13, a spare in a set of 12, a backup plan in case one of the others didn’t work out, they only wanted 12 and cast me aside for smelting. I’m a cold construct, I’m not sure what that means, but I think it’s bad, they always said I was bad luck, something about 13? They never told me. One of the older workers, a femme snuck me out in the night, I didn’t see her face, but she had a nice voice._

His engine started to stall, it jerked his frame and the dreadful sound echoed in the alleyway.

_I’m rambling and I don’t have much time...uh, my name, that’s right, I guess my name is Drift? Everyone called me a ‘drifter’ I guess it’s fitting. So my name is Drift, now what?_

_Who am I? What do I do?_

_Well I was meant to be a speed frame officer? I think? But I’m not, I’m sure I’ll never be, not with what I’ve done, what I am. I’m a drug addict, plain and simple, I sell my frame for a few credits and I get my fix. I feel the needles slip into my main energon line, the rush through my systems, the way my fans spin, my engine burns, the acidy taste in my throat, and the slowness of my processor. I don’t know what I’m doing at points, I wake up in another part of the Dead End, sometimes everything is ruined around me, other times there’s nothing around me._

_I’m not proud of it, but it’s my life, it’s what I’ve done for 26 solar cycles. I’m 26._

His vents wheeze with effort, sucking in as much air as he could, trying to slow the smoke around his spark. He wasn’t done yet.

_What else do people say at these things? What do I want to happen to my frame? Scrap it, if someone could get used out of me a little longer then fine. What were my accomplishments? None, well I climbed a tower once, that was nice. What else is there to say?_

_Nothing, there’s nothing left._

He felt his belts snap and spin out of control and then wack his chassis.

_What did I want?_

_I think I wanted to find something, I’m sure I was looking for something, I was always chasing the next high, the next moment the world around me would vanish._

Energon starts to rise up in his intake, clogging it, the pink liquid spills out of his lips, his engine has stopped, his frame is heavy, and the smoke finally closes in on his spark.

_I don’t like this, I really don’t like this! I’m D-13, Drift, I’m only 26, and I sell my frame for a quick fix and, and-and I didn’t want to die alone in some alleyway surrounded by trash!_

Thick globs of washer fluid bubble up under his optics, somehow that system still works. He can still cry, even as the energon ruptures out of his lines, as his spark starts to flicker.

_I know what I wanted, I wanted a servo, someone’s servo to hold mine as my spark snuffs, and I returned to the void. I wanted someone to hold my helm and say ‘it’s alright’, someone’s optics to watch as my processor melts away._

_I wanted someone to miss me._

That’s it, that’s what breaks his spark, deep down, that’s what he wanted, this whole time, his whole 26 solar cycles of functioning he wanted that. Just for a few moments to not be alone, just to matter in someone’s optics. A servo that would squeeze his as the world came to a halt.

More tears sting his optics and race down his face, it’s all he can feel now, the hot tears, the panic in his spark. Even if someone was holding his servo he wouldn’t feel it, it didn’t matter now. Somehow he can still open his intake, energon bubbles out, and spills out, running down the sides of his mouth and chin. His frame was too heavy, it didn’t move, he couldn’t save himself now.

A slick pop fills the alleyway, it’s his vocalizer snapping and burning, energon sputters up his throat and splatters on his chassis. The world rings and screams in his helm, optics flicker. 

For a moment he thinks he sees movement, then with another loud snap, his optics offline and the smoke draws closer and closer to his tiny spark.

_I didn’t want to die like this._

* * *

Before he notices it his digits are flying over the dented and caked frame, he pulls off plates and tosses them aside, prying them off, energon leaks out, it’s in his ventilation system, it needs to drain and fast, he punctures a bloated tube and leans the mech to the left, energon pours out, he already hears the fans clicking back on, then he lifts the mech’s helm up a bit more, taking a flashlight and tracing the damaged circuitry up to the source. 

A needle, it’s small, just the tip, whatever it was burned through his circuits too fast, it was meant to kill. 

He hissed and moved fast, patching up a few important connections and sealing the energon lines. The engine was stalling, his clutch snapped, not a good sign. Ratchet glanced around, it was a race between him, time, and this mech’s frame. It would take him 5 kilks to get to the clinic, 3 tops if he broke the law.

His tires screamed as he slammed on his brakes, he set the mech down on an operating table and rushed around, grabbing what tools he would need. The lights reflected the horrid condition this mech was in, burnt circles, broken fuses, scratched up tubes, and a busted piston. First things first he hooked the mech onto a medical-grade bag of energon but kept it only in his vital systems, then he replaced the tubing, and had to cut out all of his circuits and smelt new ones. 

“What are you doing?” Pharma squealed and rushed over. “I know you’re trying to impress me but trying to bring back a mech from death?” He hovered over.

“Get out of my light.” He snapped, shoving his professor back. “I can’t see.” He snarled and set another line down, connecting it to his spark chamber. From there he switched the energon line to more systems, knowing that the mech needed to recover a bit longer before he could fix that piston. Ratchet leaned over the spark chamber, feeling the warmth from it.

He’d only seen videos of spark chambers, videos explaining how the spark worked, how sparklings were formed, the systems that connected to the spark, everything. He felt the piston kicking in the mech’s frame, the slight jerk, winching at each kick, a broken piston could pump oil into one’s spark.

“Open him up, you need to at this point, the oil is flooding his spark chamber,” Pharma added sitting back and skimming a datapad.

Ratchet licked his lip plates, it was his spark, his very essence, it was this mech, exposed and open. He never opened a spark chamber before, not even his own, Ratchet knew this would come up at some point, but-

Pharma’s digits were on his’, guiding his, they were cold, his turbines whined and hot vents ran down Ratchet’s frame. His tanks twisted and a shiver ran up his back struts, he could feel Pharma’s panels starting to burn. Ratchet focused on the dying mech, not the intake pressed against his helm. “Pull these back and push down on the panels.” Pharma’s digits manipulated his, and with a pop, the spark chamber was open, a cloud of smoke flew up in their faces. “Oh for fra-” He sputtered and rushed back hacking as the oil smoke flooded the operation’s room.

Ratchet hacked and waved away the smoke, looking down into the mech’s spark chamber, oil pooled around the bottom. “Pump, give me a pump.” He hissed at Pharma.

Pharma tossed him a pump, something no medical professional should ever do. “Wasting your time.”

Ratchet shook it off and slipped the pump’s intake into the bottom of the mech’s chamber, flicking it on and feeling the oil slip into the container. He worked around the spark, gently, any touch would snuff his spark. Ratchet cut the mech’s oil line and replaced the leaks, pleased with his work he inspected the chamber.

“Never seen one of these before, huh?” Pharma leaned over the mech, pulling out a laser pointed. “Take some mental notes here, this spark, it’s gold, matches his optics, he doesn’t have colored optics, why’s that?”

“Cheap cold construct?”

“Yea, very good my prized student.” He purred and pointed the laser down to an opening, then hissed. “This would be his gestation chamber, when one share their spark and CNA the sparkling would first bud off of the carrier’s spark, then orbit around the carrier. Meanwhile, the carrier and sire would build up the sparkling’s frame in the gestation chamber. Here he doesn’t have one, it’s a complicated system to replicate, almost no cold construct has a gestation chamber. So if this mech ever decided to make something of his wretched drug-addicted life, he could only be a sire.” Pharma snapped.

Ratchet stared down at the small spark. It was steady now. “Pharma, they never told me this in school, but what happens if the sire had a bud?”

“That rarely happens, but the bud rejoins the sire’s spark, but there have been times where that isn’t the case and they have to clip the bud. Good question, but your project here?” He shook his helm. “With how his spark is? He couldn’t even bud, look at the wavering in his center, it’s weak, and damaged, if this mech could even share his spark it would be a miracle.” He tsked.

“Is this his innermost energon,” Ratchet pointed to the glowing pink lines.

“Yes, I’m surprised his aft hasn’t solid it off for a trip or two yet, his lines haven’t been punctured yet.” He scoffed and leaned back. “So what have we learned today?”

Ratchet reset his optics and turned to the mech below them. “The functioning and issues a spark can have and the connections to the gestation chamber. That cold constructs don’t have gestation chambers.”

He nodded. “Yes, very good, but,” He held up his servo. “This mech wanted to die, that’s how his frame went into such poor condition, and one doesn’t waste time and supplies for someone who doesn’t want to live.” Pharma rumbled.

Ratchet shut his intake, he stared down at the gold spark, watching it grow and develop, the mech would be online by tomorrow. _That sound, that sound I heard in the alleyway, the pop of his vocalizer, he didn’t want to die, he was scared, and his frame could’ve shut down a lot faster, but I know for certain he didn’t want to die._

* * *

Awareness came with the steady beeping and the wheezing of his vents, he smelled the thick tank turning scent of cleanser first, then oil fresh oil, something he hasn’t smelt in solar cycles. Now his frame started to reset, he felt the cool air, the warm cushion under him. His helm hurt, it ached at the base of his neck, the fastest way to the processor’s mainline.

_Where to inject syk._

His optics online slowly, the light above him burned and he hissed and recoiled away, then it dimmed and his optics started to take in the sight of the ceiling. It was clean, too clean, curtains draped down around him, expensive machines beeped next to him.

_A shame to waste something like that on me._

“Hey,” A white servo waved over his digits, it blurred and glitched, his optics were still damaged. 

Drift followed the limb to its owner, spotting a white and red bot, a doctor. His vents hitched and he started to sit up. _A doctor? I don’t have credits!_

“Hey, hey.” He spoke softly and pressed Drift down. “It’s alright, it’s a clinic, no charge.”

His lip plates pulled down and he shook his helm, his processor ached and his neck popped, pain seared through his helm. Drift’s intake stretched open in a silent painful scream.

“Woah, Woah, alright calm down, I’m gonna give you a painkiller for that.” He grumbled and pulled out a needle, pressing it into Drift’s arm. “There, this is going to knock you back out in a few, but at least that pain will go away.” He smiled.

 _Back under?_ Drift stared at the mech, his frame shaking.

“It’s alright, you’ll be okay.” He comforted Drift. “Hey maybe I can patch up your vocalizer when you’re out, that’d be nice?”

He took a shaky invent, his intake mouthed words. _I don’t want to go under._

His optics softened. “It’s okay, I’ll be right here.”

Drift shook his helm, spark in his throat. _Please don’t put me under._

He got to his peds.

Drift’s servos shot out and grabbed him, his frame hung halfway off the berth and clung to the doctor’s side. Hot tears rolled down his faceplates and his whole frame quivered with fear and weakness. He stared up into those tender worried optics, once more. _I can’t go back under._

The doctor helped him back onto the berth and once more sat by his side. “You’re scared? Aren’t you?”

He nodded, his throat tightening as more hot tears gushed out of his optics. _I can’t go back, please don’t make me go back._ He reached for the doctor’s arm, clutching it with all the strength he could muster. 

“Okay, tell you what kid, I’ll stay here (got some textbooks to read), and I’ll make sure you’ll pull out of it. Would you like that?”

He nodded, letting go of the doctor’s arm, but held his servo out.

The doctor took it, Drift squeezed. “It’s alright, I’ll be right here, I’ll always be right here, waiting for you.”

Drift smiled at that, feeling the weight of the doctor’s servo in his, his boxy, firm servo, it was real and warm. _Please don’t let go._ He mouthed to the doctor.

“I won’t, I won’t let go.”

* * *

The thin digits curled even tighter, then slacken, he squeezed back, and once more the servo started to compress his digits again. Rubbing his thumb over the mech’s knuckles, he watched as the mech’s frame ease into a gentle recharge.

Ratchet leaned back, still holding the freezing servo in his. _His heating systems are off, I’ll need to check that, along with his response system, there could be a fried wire somewhere._ He noted and pulled up a textbook, and started to study. Sure he was accepted into Pharma’s program, but that didn’t mean he had a lighter workload, in fact, he had double. Working in a high capacity clinic while also keeping up with his classes, it was a dangerous dance between learning on call and from his texts. 

If he was lucky he would have his license by the end of this solar cycle. 

Not bad for only turning 21.

_Not bad at all, top of your class, accepted for this program, and soon you’ll be out of the educational pit._

Ratchet felt the mech squeeze again, he squeezed back, the datapad was set aside and Ratchet stared down at the mech. He was worn, dents littered his frame, along with stains and scratches. His frame was a speed frame, thin, lethal, able to make the tightest turns without slowing down. But that meant his plates were thin, his whole frame would be easy to damage, that is if he wasn’t refueling properly. 

Then there were the marks, on his arms, by his neck, drugs, and by the looks of it highly addictive drugs. Some of the wirings was scarred and deformed from the usage. It looked like some form of Syk, and Syk was bad enough. It was known to distort a mech’s whole processor, they would lose themselves and their frame would be running on protocols. They would become violent, attacking almost anyone around them, acting like a rabid mech, some would even try to eat another mech.

He must’ve caught this poor mech at the end of a trip, or the start, his frame was already locking up. _They call it to deadlock, the only warning a mech gets before their spark is snuffed._ Ratchet shivered and squeezed the mechs’ servo again.

“Where’s my prized student?” Pharma called, stepping in while rubbing oil and energon off of his servos and tossing the towel into a cleanser basket. His teacher paused, wings pushing back. “Still haven’t left his side?”

Ratchet shook his helm. “He needs to rest, and he was online not too long ago, his vocalizer is blown, so it’s best to stay by his side for now.”

Pharma crossed his arms, rolling his optics. “Always trying too hard, he’ll be fine, I don’t even understand why you’re wasting your time on him, he’s a druggie, a dead-ender, a drifter.” 

Ratchet turned away from his teacher, glancing down at the peaceful frame, rubbing the knuckles. “And he needed help.”

Pharma strutted over to Ratchet, his thin digits trailed up Ratchet’s neck and to his chin, turning him away from his patient. “You have so much raw talent, and with my help, we can tame and refine you into a brilliant doctor. So why are you wasting your time with this deadlock of a mech?”

Ratchet stared up at those slackened optics, his intake felt dry and his spark did a little leap up into his throat. “I,” He licked his lips. “I wanted to study the effects of Syk on a living mech’s frame.”

Pharma’s intake curled up into a pleased smile. “That’s,” He paused. “Quite resourceful, then again I shouldn’t be expecting anything less from my top pupil.” His digits retracted and he spun around, wings flapping. “But Ratchet, just know that you might be disappointed with him, he’s a deadlock, and you know what they say about deadlocks.”

“I know.” He mumbled, turning back to his datapad.

Pharma vented and shook his helm. “Hopeless.” He strutted off.

That left Ratchet, who’s thumb hasn’t stopped stroking the mech’s knuckles, and the mech who’s vents rattled. He studied the dents, the marks, the paint transfers, everything that littered the mech’s frame. “You could’ve died a lot sooner in that little alley, but you didn’t. You’re not hopeless, kid.”

The frame rattled again and the servo squeezed the others once more.

* * *

He winced feeling the warm digits inside his throat, Drift tried to not focus on that, someone’s servos were deep in his throat. Instead, he focused on the doctor’s focused optics, how they flickered and narrowed in on his innards, not once did they blink. There was a faint snap and the doctor vented and licked his lips. “Okay, the replacement is in, now we just need to tune it and let your frame integrate it in.” He smiled and sat back. “Go ahead and give it a try.”

“Hello,” It was soft and muffled with thick layers of static, Drift frowned.

The doctor leaned forward and twisted something on the new vocalizer. “Keep going.”

“Hello,” It was clearer, but still laced with static. “Hello,” Better but there was still a faint popping. “Hello?”

“Perfect, let me pull my servo out and give you a patch.” He nodded and pulled out a piece of thin metal mesh, he then started to pull the weld together and place the patch on top, and with a hot stamp, it was melted together. “Not bad, it’ll leave a scar until you get a repaint, but hey.” He shrugged. “Didn’t feel any pain?”

Drift shook his helm. “No, nothing,” He paused. _I haven’t sounded like this in solar cycles, right off the line._ He sat back up and rubbed the spot, feeling the weld marks. “Thank you.” 

The doctor nodded turning around. 

Drift had to move fast, he slipped off the berth, quickly flicking off the machines he was still attached to and pulling the wires out of his arms.

“I noticed that you could really use some healthy metals in your frame, got some thin platting in some areas.”

Drift wheezed, his helm was spinning, but he steadied his peds and pushed forward. _Escape now, he’s not looking and you can disappear without a bill over your helm. Shame I don’t have the credits to properly thank you doctor but I’ll find another way._

“So I figured why not and I snagged some oil cakes from one of my favorite bakeries. I mean why-”

Drift wasn’t fast enough, he only just grasped the door panel and felt the doctor’s optics on his backplates, he hissed and shut his optics, guilt washing over his frame. _Why couldn’t I move faster? Now he knows I’m trying to escape, he’ll keep me locked in here, and that bill, it’ll keep going up and up an-_

A warm servo rested on his shoulder, the doctor’s face places came into view, twisted with confusion and concern. “You shouldn’t be moving like that.”

He swallowed, it hurt. “I can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have credits.” 

A soft smile spread across his face. “Don’t worry about that, it’s a free clinic, come on, sit down I got us oil cakes.” 

His firm arms kept Drift standing and the two made their way back to the berth, he sunk down onto the soft cushion and the doctor helped his peds up. _Free? That’s not right, nothing is ever free, not energon, not parts, and certainly not a mech’s time. He’ll expect something back, I could open my panels for him, let him do what he wants, and slip away to another part of the dead end._

“Here, I just heated them up a bit.” He set the box down on Drift’s lap, the sweet scent of oil and copper wafted up to his sensors. 

“I don’t think this is normal, is it?” He turned to the doctor, his intake started to pool with fluids. _Primus when was the last time I had enough fluids to drool?_

“Nope,” He shook his helm and leaned in. “But between you and me, this didn’t happen, if my professor hears this he’ll blow a gasket.”

Drift picked up one of the cakes, pausing to really look at the sponge texture, the copper sauce that oozed out from the top but stayed in the cake’s bowl. His tanks growled, that was the only warning that either of them got before Drift bit down into the cake, slurping up the gooey inside and swallowing, then taking another bite, and another. The cake was gone, his tank stopped growling and he reached for another. This one wasn’t devoured like it’s predecessor, no, he chewed it now, slowly, steady, tasted the rich flavor, and felt it slip down his intake. He stared down at the cakes, at his dirty frame. _You don’t deserve this, you should’ve even been here, you should be back in that alleyway, rusting now. The hot sting of tears clouded his vision and leaked down his faceplates._

“Hey, hey, they’re just cakes.” The doctor leaned in, resting a comforting servo on his shoulder. 

Drift snorted and blinked away the washer fluid, he swallowed down the cake. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“What do you mean?”

He shuttered. “I should be back there, in the alleyway, waiting for mechs to take apart my frame and sell it for parts. I shouldn’t be here, in this soft berth, cleaned up, with a new vocalizer and with oil cakes. I don’t deserve this, or you.” Gently he pushed the cakes away, more hot tears sprung from his optics.

The doctor’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him in, it was a hug, he saw them before, felt them only when some mech was slamming his spike into his abused valve. “Shh, none of that.” His voice was soft and soothing. “None of that here, you’re here now, so why does it matter if you deserve it or not? Who cares, you’re here, aren’t you?”

Drift leaned into his hug, sobbing even more. “Why’d you save me? I’m nothing, I’m a wreck, I’m a dead mech walking. So why would you waste your time with me?”

“Because, you didn’t want to die, you really didn’t want to die then, so I just saved you.” He pulled back, just enough to look into Drift’s optics. “You didn’t give up, kid, and that’s something that’s rare to come by.” he soothed.

Drift sobbed into his chest, listening to the kindest words that had ever graced him, his tanks growled again. He finally turned back to the cakes and snagged another one, eating it. “Why oil cakes?”

“They’re great for weight gain, and well as you can see,” He gestured to himself. “Quiet a terrible treat.”

Drift snorted, rolling his optics. “Trust me, you’re fine, you’re healthy.” _He’s quite a handsome mech, I wouldn’t even charge him if he asked._

The doctor laughed. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Well, I’m the one who hasn’t even asked your name yet doc.”

He paused. “So, I haven’t asked yours yet, I was too busy patching you up to even wake you up and ask. And it's nurse, by the way, nurse Ratchet.”

“Nurse? But you’re clearly more qualified to be a doctor. And Drift, I’m Drift.” 

“Nice to meet your Drift. Bah, that’s nothing, doctors are only specialized in certain areas, nurses are all around, most of them have more experience than doctors. But I could be a doctor one day, not today though.” He shrugged.

Drift smiled. “It’s nice to meet you too, nurse Ratchet.” He leaned back into the plush cushions. “So what brings a fine mech like you into the Dead End?”

“A slingshot route into getting my license.”

Drift laughed. “You’re not even a nurse!” He winched and rubbed his throat, too loud.

“So?!”

“Look at you, calling yourself ‘nurse’ oooh, such a big important title.” He teased. 

“Shut it with an oil cake.” He snapped.

Drift giggled and grabbed his last oil cake. “Where’d you get these?”

“It’s a tiny shop, off 10th and Trion street, once you’re out you’re going to stop there and get yourself something.”

* * *

Pharma slapped a datapad into his servos. “Stock, I’m sure your time could be better managed over that deadlock.”

Ratchet glanced down at the datapad, skimming over the supplies, hospitals often donated their old or ‘expired’ goods to clinics, so they got them. If they didn’t have it in stock the other clinics might. It was a good system, supplies that weren’t used or were past their ‘prime’ were handed down to them. Kinda smart. Ratchet turned towards the supply closed but not before he felt a servo slap his aft, he spun around, pushing down that feeling in his tanks. “Oh, you’re terrible.” He huffed and strutted off.

Ratchet found himself in the supplies closet, checking in everything from the truck. _We’ll need those, are these those new insta-seal patches? I heard that they were pretty good, and would be great for energon loss._ He went through everything, making new piles and restocking areas. Ratchet only paused as Pharma walked in. “Do you need something, sir?”

Pharma hummed, grabbing a cube of medical-grade, he swirled it. “I wanted to talk to you about something. About what you can do with your future.”

Ratchet bit the inside of his intake. “What do you mean?”

“Ratchet, I’m not going to lie to you, you’re at a huge turning point in your career here. There are so many options you can take here, you can even reach my level and run a chain of hospitals.” He smiled. “Ratchet there’s so much you can do, you have so much skill, you know what to do in the operating room, and you’ve learned so fast that it’s hard for me to keep up. But I want you to make the right choice.”

There was a sour taste in his intake. _Here it comes._

“That mech, the deadlock out there? I get it, I do, you’re a bleeding spark, but Ratchet you’re wasting your time. What is he going to do when he leaves here? Find some mech to frag and get a quick fix, and he’ll be right back on that berth in no time. Are you going to fix him again?” Pharma folded his arms. “You’re spending too much time over him, like some worried carrier.”

“But I’m only there if he needs me or if there’s time to kill.”

“Ratchet, I know his type, he’s a throw-away, a spare, a backup. He has no function, so why even patch him up at this point? He’s going down and he’ll drag you down with him. You have so much potential, you and I can be unstoppable, can you just imagine what we could do together?”

Ratchet vented, Pharma did have a point, Drift was an addict, and he would be back, and he would keep coming back. _No, once he’s off I think he’ll be a fine mech._ “I’ll think about it.”

Pharma frowned and patted his back struts. “Don’t disappoint me.” 

Ratchet nodded and returned to his work. _Drift won’t be back, once he’s patched up, he’ll get on his peds, the kid’s got spirit._

“Catch.” Ratchet tossed Drift a ball, the speeder caught it and tossed it back. “Good, seems like your nerve wiring is working. How are you feeling?”

“Fat.” 

“That’s good too.” Ratchet knocked on his chassis, hearing a deep thud. “Means you’ve built up your weight.” 

“Ugh,” He stuck out his tongue. “I shouldn’t complain, it’s good to have something in my tanks for once.” 

Ratchet huffed and plopped down. “Alright now that that’s done, I’m gonna ask you a few more questions about your frame, go ahead and have a seat please.” He pointed to the berth.

Drift sat back down, the berth squeaked under his weight, his peds swung and he beamed, his face was fuller, plates were thicker, the healthy rumble of his engine filled the room. “What do you need, nurse?”

Ratchet smirked. “Almost a nurse.”

“3/4th nurse,” Drift teased.

“Alright, patient smart aft, how old are you?”

“26 solar cycles.”

Ratchet typed it in the file. “Cold construct?”

Drift nodded. “No family.”

The cheerful mood disappeared like smoke. “Any mods?”

“Only what I was online with.”

“I see, high functioning hydraulics, and a healthy 8 cinlder engine under the hood.” He wrote down. “You’ll always need extra oil for that.” 

Drift curled in on himself, wrapped his arms around his chassis. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

“You’re not cold are you?”

Ratchet hesitated, looking up from his datapad. Drift was hunched over, his yellow optics dull and his helm finals shivered. Ratchet set aside the datapad and sat next to Drift. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does though, doesn’t it?” 

Ratchet ground his denta. “It doesn’t matter how you got here, what matters is what you do with your life.”

Drift smiled and leaned against Ratchet. “How old are you?”

“21.”

“21? You’re 21? You look older than me.” Drift poked his side. 

“Thanks.” Ratchet poked him back. “It seems that you’re recovering very well, in fact you’re doing extremely well. I think after we get you a new set of air filters, and an oil change.” 

Drift huffed and fell back into the berth. “Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

The white and gray mech frowned. “Well, it’s only a matter of time before, well that happens again.” His optics watered and Drift pulled his arms around himself into a tight hug. “I can already feel it, the addiction, it’s coming back, and I know that when I fall back into it I won’t be able to crawl myself out.”

Ratchet felt his spark squeeze, he rested a servo on Drift’s chassis, he licked his lip plates and stared down at the dented and messay frame. _No, you’re not a deadlock, you’re not going to fall back into that dark pit._ Ratchet shook his helm. “You didn’t want to die, I saw that in your spark when we opened you up, you kept flickering and fighting, any other mech would’ve smothered. Drift, I saw you a split klick away from death, and Pharma told me it wasn’t working, that I was wasting my time. But you kept fighting, and I think you’ll keep fighting.” He glanced up from the chassis, feeling the warmth of Drift’s spark, he met the dull yellow optics.

Drift’s face was twisted upwards, and his optics started to swell with washer fluid. “But I’m nobody.”

Ratchet smirked. “That’s the best part, you get to make yourself into someone.”

Drift was fast, very fast, his frame sat up and his arms coiled around Ratchet’s chassis, the speederst started to shiver and hold him tightly. Wet drops landed on his shoulder and Ratchet patted his back struts, feeling his spark go out to the kid. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Get out of the way deadlock.” Pharma snapped and shoved Drift aside. “Don’t even know why you’re here.” The jet grumbled.

Drift folded up the towels and set them in the closet, grabbing another batch and started folding again. He wasn’t cleared just yet, but the least he could do was clean up here and there, help out Ratchet at least a little. 

“Deadlock you’re in the way.” Pharma hissed.

Drift pushed his frame aside and the sour doctor moved on, he ground his denta at the name, it wasn’t even a name, it was an insult. Deadlock meant someone who would never escape the dead end, that he would never escape the dead end. He resented that, he hated it, and he hated that deep down in his core, that Pharma might be right about him. That this was all a waste, that the countless klicks Ratchet spent on him would be whipped out all due to him.

His frame sagged.

A warm servo rested on his shoulder. “Chin up Drift, you’re almost out of here.”

Drift shuttered, his craving had died down, but he knew that when he saw someone else shooting up, he would want to too. “Thanks Ratchet.”

Ratchet huffed and pulled him into a hug, they did that a lot, hugging, lots of hugging, it was normal now for them. Drift liked the way Ratchet’s chasses rumbled, how his frame was so warm, the polish he used was sweet. “Don’t listen to him kid.”

Drift nudged his face into Ratchet’s neck, inhaling everything that was Ratchet. _So sturdy, so caring. He cares about me, he wants to see me do good. And I will for him...I love him._

Ratchet’s firm digits rubbed circles in his back plates and the medic vented, resting his helm on top of Drift’s. “You’ll be fine, kid.”

“Ratchet stop wasting your time, I need you here!”

Drift watched as the nurse in training rushed over to the grumpy doctor, his spark fluttering, he returned to folding the towels, a small smile graced his lips. _If Ratchet believes in me, I can do it._

* * *

Drift was cleared to leave, that has been a few cycles back, the drifter left and smiled at him, before slipping away into the night. 

The clinic felt empty without the playful mech, sure they got more patients and the world kept turning. But it was quiet.

Ratchet tapped his digits on the desk and he turned away from the text. _I wonder where you’re at Drift._ He sighed and slumped back in the chair, fiddling with a wrench. _Drift is gone, now you need to focus on yourself, you did your part Ratchet._ He huffed and rubbed his helm. _Then why does it feel so bad?_

Pharma strolled in, checking his datapad but then froze looking down at Ratchet, his wings sunk. “Oh,” He set his datapad down and sat on the other side of the desk. “You’re attached, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

His teacher tsked and sat back. “You miss him, that deadlock, don’t you?”

Ratchet vented. “Yea, so?”

Pharma frowned and shook his helm. “I’ve been there kid, one of my first patients had similar problems, I got him on his peds and he left. I thought he would come back, he never did.” He shrugged. “That’s why I tried to warn you about him, he’s a deadlock, a drifter, he’ll never stay.”

“But-”

Pharma held up his servo. “Ratchet I want to explain something to you, he is a mech without a function, this society isn’t meant for him, and if you were to cling to him that would only drag you down. You’re a brillant mech, talented and driven, I will not see your hard work squandered due to some deadlock.” Pharma held his chin up. “Ratchet, you need to become a doctor.”

His spark soared and Ratchet squirmed. “A doctor?”

Pharma, this great doctor, leading the field of medical, stared into his optics. “Yes, become a doctor.” He leaned forward, pressing their intakes together, his digits clawing between Ratchet’s.

* * *

He wiggled in place, he’d tried so hard, so very hard, to earn enough for a safe apartment, stable fuel, polish, tune ups, everything. But what truly excited him was the two surprises he had planned. First things first, he had to get to the clinic.

Drift grinned stepping through the doors and heading towards the check in, he waved to the nurse bot. “Uh, hi,” There it was, the sparks in his tanks, his processor railing into errors like they were walls, and his own spark, it was doing loops, the loops that would offend seekers as their speed. “C-could I speak t-t-to Ratchet?”

“Doctor Ratchet is in the middle of a surgery, you’ll have to wait.” 

“Okay.” He smiled and sat down, tapping his ped. Now all he had to do was wait, normal, simple, waiting, he loved waiting. Just had to ignore the sweet swelling in his chassis. He’d been planning this for so long, the moment that Ratchet clawed through his chassis and curled up under his spark. 

A date, a normal, little date, just the two of them.

He did it, making himself a respectable member of society, part of Cybertron’s machine. 

Got a little hab, a job, everything. 

And now he had to wait, and take the-wait doctor?

“You said he’s a doctor?”  
The bot nodded. “Yes.”

“A doctor, doctor Ratchet.” He sunk back a grin spreading across his face, he melted into the chair. “He did it.”

Then he stepped through, the jet, the one mech he really didn’t want to see, Pharma. The jet spared him a glance. “Need another tune up?” He sneered.

Drift felt his tanks grow cold, he ground his denta. “Uh, no I just needed to talk with doctor Ratchet.”  
Pharma cocked an optic ridge. “Why would a doctor waste his time with you?”

That hurt. “I, I was going to see him.”

The jet rolled his optics. “If there’s no medical emergency, then you must leave, you’re taking up space in my bay.” He snapped.

Drift sunk down. “Okay,” He stood up, and nodded. “Um, I’ll just...go.” He left, taking a few steps away before turning a corner and waiting. The way that jet stared at him, that look, he shivered, Pharma always put him on edge. The way he walked, his hips would only swing around Ratchet, or his voice would change and it would slip out like energex whenever Ratchet had a question. 

Drift stilled his raging spark, so what if he was kicked out, he could wait, he would wait for Ratchet. Always. 

Time passed slowly, but at some point he perked up hearing the door shut, and a huff, Drift peered past the wall and his spark leapt out of his chassis. There he was.

Ratchet, there was Ratchet, doctor Ratchet. He looked drained, but still moved with purpose, he rubbed under his optics and yawned. “Ugh.” He stepped forward, towards Drift.

Drift grinned and sunk back behind the wall, once more he wiggled, watching the doctor pass him, Drift kept pace with Ratchet. “So, you’re a doctor now?”

Ratchet paused, spun around. “Drift?” He gaped.

Drift couldn’t help himself, hugging the doctor. “Hi.”

“Hi?” Ratchet pulled back. “Where have you been?” His optics eyed Drift’s frame up and down. “You...you look great!” He hugged Drift back.

He felt his finals wiggle and grinned. “Got time?”

“For you? Always, I need to know everything.” He smiled leaning against Drift’s side.

“Oh good, cause I got dinner.” He pulled out the oil cakes, making sure they were still warm.

“Drift you didn’t!”

His finals shot up and his peds twisted. “Well I figured that-”

“Is this a date?”

“I mean, I, uh-”

“Well then,” He slipped his arm around Drift’s. “Might as well look the part.” He smirked.

Drift felt his spark turn to mush, and his smile lazily spread across his face plates.

* * *

Ratchet vented, his frame dragged at the end of the date, but he was happy, if only Pharma didn’t push him so hard. Drift’s arm rested under Ratchet’s back struts, he glanced up at the older mech, his helm lulling to the side.

“Where’s your hab, I’ll take you home.”

He sighed a smile gracing his intake. “To the east,” Together they walked, Ratchet vented and clung to the speedster, his spark turning inside out. It was pleasant, the gentle night air tickled his plates and chilled him. His heavy peds begged for the soft cushion of his berth, but he wanted to know so much more, spend so much more time with Drift. “Thank you.”

“Hm?”

Ratchet grinned as if he drank though half a bar. “For this, thank you Drift, I needed this.”

His date sputtered and blushed. “Uh, you’re welcome.”

Ratchet started to zone out as they made their way to the middle class housing, the soft feeling that enveloped his spark started to dissipate. They were staring at the two of them, his plating prickled, of course they were staring, a doctor and a recovering deadender. That must’ve been a sight. He willed his frame to stand tall and pick up the pace. “C’mon, almost there.”

Drift followed him, his servo grew tighter around Ratchet’s. “I,” He shivered, Ratchet could taste his fear, his concern. “I think I should go.”

Ratchet stumbled to a stop, his servo tightened on Drift’s. “The park,” He led them to the crystal park, at least there they could hide from prying optics. He sat them under the purple willow, pulling Drift in. “I’m sorry about that.”

The speederst just laughed, it wasn’t his normal full joyus laugh, far from it, a swallow painful one. “It’s okay Ratchet, I’m just glad that we caught up.”

That smile, it was so painful, so forced, it wasn’t Drift. “It’s not, and I should’ve walked home on my own. I-”

“I was trying to nail all the, well, first date to-do’s.” He shrugged.

Ratchet rolled his optics. “You did more than just fill a stupid list kid,” He took Drift’s servos. “Thank you.”

Drift’s face melted. “If possible, I’d like to take you out again.”

“I would love that.” _I like you._

“Oh!” Drift slapped his helm. “I almost forgot,” he shoved a little present into Ratchet’s servos. “I’d open it when you’re alone, it’s only for you.” He leaned back. “I gotta go.”

“Goodbye Drift.”

He watched the white frame speed off, escaping the middle class den, he gently placed the gift into his subspace, grinning. Ratchet pulled himself together and made himself to his hab, his peds ached, his optics blurred and somehow he was smiling. Drift was okay, more than okay, he was excellent. 

He proved Pharma wrong.

He proved the deadend wrong.

And he was going to prove the system wrong.

Ratchet locked the door behind him, and quickly rinsed his frame before collapsing into his plush berth. He pulled the gift out and sat up, a tiny note, the words were a little rough, but elegant, grammar and spelling was perfect. “He learned.”

**Hi Ratchet,**

**I know this isn’t custom, and well it’s not exactly tradioanal. But I wanted to make you a promise. Keep this, and no matter what I promise you can have the rest when I prove myself.**

“Drift, you’re trying too hard, such a sof-” He opened it, and his spark stilled. “Oh, Drift.” It was a vile, it was small, delicate, and it was Drift. It’s Drift’s innermost energon. His intake tightened and his spark was torn in two.

His career or his happiness?

Drift or Pharma?

Does he keep it or toss it?

Ratchet held the vile up, his spark spinning, he popped open his chassis and his chamber and slipped the vile next to his spark. His servo rested over his chassis, he imagined Drift was there, that the date didn’t end with Drift scurrying off, that they weren’t stared at, that he wasn’t so tired.

He imagined Drift’s intake on his.

His spark sung and Ratchet sobbed.

Oh.

_Oh._

* * *

He boldly sat in the clinic waiting area, digging his digits into the chair. He was going to see Ratchet today, and he wasn’t going to be kicked out, or pushed aside by that pumpus jet Pharma. Drift swallowed and vented, he could wait.

“Excuse me, Crank, do we have any-” Pharma paused, his cool optics landed on Drift’s frame, he sneered. “Any patches left, could you check.”

The front desk worker nodded and slipped past him, leaving Drift with the doctor. The jet hummed and vented, his engine’s whined and he stepped into the waiting room. “Again?”

Drift shut his optics and dug his digits into the chair.

Pharma grinned and sat in the opposite chair from Drift. “Very well, then let’s play this out, this idea that Ratchet would ever pick you, and what your life would look like, hmmm? Let’s.”

His denta ground, he could do this, he could wait for Ratchet.

“So, you’ve somehow successfully trapped Ratchet in this concept of ‘love’ and then? Well then you move in together, the middle class housing wouldn’t let someone like you in. So he moves in with you, great, you’re together. You work day and night to just survive and so does he, but wait, he’s with you, his medical license is taken away. How? Oh that’s right, you’re a deadlock, a druggie, and a buy mech, so if he's even seen with you, there goes his whole career.” Pharma folded his digits together, leaning back and crossing his legs. “From there he’s forced to work twice as hard, and not in his trained profession. He’s thrown into a world he’s not used to, his whole life if ripped away from him, you two live in a run down cramped hab. You both say that you’ll get out of it, somehow, you have each other and that’s all you need, right?”

Drift shut his optics, almost picturing Ratchet in his hab, it was cramped, the medic was smiling, but he wasn’t happy. 

“You have him, have a roof over your helm, now what? What else could life throw your way? You relapsing? One of you getting sick and unable to afford health care?” He paused and grinned. “He’s carrying, and for the longest time you’re happy, he’s happy, but you’re both worried, how can you have a sparkling? How can you fuel it? Keep it safe? Take it to school? He can’t work and stress himself out, so you take one another job while he does what he can. Then what, the sparkling comes, you’re still pinching every credit you can, even starving to make sure your sparkling and bitlet are fueled and safe. But no matter what you’ll never get out of that hole.”

Drift stared down at his peds. He was right, Drift would never fully escape the dead end, and he would only drag Ratchet down with him. But, that was wrong, it was all wrong. “You missed something.”

“What could I miss? Society keeps deadlocks like you under our peds. Ratchet would lose his whole life just because of you, do you think that there’s some magical answer of ‘love will fix everything’?”

“Ratchet would never lose his licenses, and if he did he would still continue his practice, deadenders look out for one another, and they always need medics. Ratchet’s not some incompatant medic that you make him out to be.”

Pharma barked a laugh. “Really? Then why would he be spending so much time with you? Only foolish mechs waste their time with deadlocks like you, and Ratchet is doing just that. Wasting. His. Time.”

“He’s not.” Drift hissed, his engine rumbling to life.

“He could just throw some credits your way and get it over with, use you up like the cheap shareware you are.”

“Shut up! Ratchet is better than that.” Drift jumped up.

“Then why is he wasting his time with a cheap valve toy like you?” Pharma towered over him, pinning him with cold optics.

“You don’t even know him!”

“And you do?”

“Of course I do, I love him!”

“Then stop wasting his time!”

“It’s not a waste, I’m not a waste!”

“Who could ever love someone like you?”

Drift clamped his intake down, his whole frame shook with rage, he forced himself to vent. “I’m not leaving him.”

“You should do it before you get his hopes up. Besides, you're not missing much.”

That felt like a rake across his spark. “What?”

“You could make the bills work, somehow find a hab better, even provide enough for that bitlet. If you let those deadlocks use your new fancy toy.”

His spark stilled.

“Sure he’s tight, and wet, he would make some credits.”

Drift’s fist collided with Pharma’s face plate. “Shut you fragging mouth!”

* * *

Crank was outside. “Ratchet get in there!”

Ratchet jogged over. “What’s wrong?”

“That deadlock is in there, and he’s trying to kill Pharma!” Crank screamed.

Ratchet felt his spark drop to his peds, he dropped his oil cakes and pushed into the clinic.

Pharma was on the floor, face bloody, Drift was over him, holding Pharma by his collar and Drift slammed his fist down on Pharma’s helm. The jet wiggled under him and screamed in pain.

Ratchet raced forward, prying Drift off of Pharma and standing between the two of them.

“Ratche-”

“GET OUT OF HERE DEADLOCK!” He yelled turning away from the mech and kneeling next to Pharma, inspecting the wounds. His digits worked fast as he started to clean and dress the wounds, patching up the plates and dents. Ratchet cursed himself, he saw it, and didn’t do anything about it, he saw how Drift and Pharma never got along, how the two clashed, he could’ve stopped it. He fumed but over time he eased and leaned back inspecting his work, his spark aching. “Drift, can we ta-” He turned, the clinic was empty. “Drift?”

* * *

The alleyway was a comfort, so many places to hide, it was perfect. Drift skidded to a stop and found a hidden box under a pile of rubbish.

The clouds cracked above and he ducked into the box, pulling the trash over him like a blanket. At least this could provide some shelter from the acid rain. It started with a faint ting then a sizzle, then another ting, and another. The acid poured down and the drifter pulled himself into a tight ball.

The energon was still on his servos. 

The fight was still fresh on his processor.

What was said was still there, it lingered and burned into his processor. 

_Deadlock, he wouldn’t have cared if anyone called him one, but Ratchet did._

The rain covered the sound of his broken sobs.

_Deadlock, trash, cheap. I would never amount to anything, I know that now. And Ratchet._

His throat hurt as he tried so hard to keep the sounds in.

_I could die here, and he would be better off. Leave him with memories and broken promises. It would be better than having an unstable life with him, drag him down._

The roar of the rain was interrupted by the sounds of ped steps. “Drift!”

He closed up on himself, cupping his intake and stilling his sobs, his throat hurt so much.

“Drift? Drift are you there kid?” Ratchet called, his frame hissing in the acid rain. “Come on, don’t do this, we can talk.”

Ratchet’s legs came into view. Drift forced his frame to freeze.

“Drift?” He glanced around. “Come on kid, we can talk, I’m not mad.”

_Please just leave me. Just get out of here Ratchet. Go ahead and have some great life, it’s for the best._

“Drift?” He walked down the alleyway. “Come on, don’t go, please don’t.”

He grabbed a crushed can of oil, throwing it as far as he could and it clanked.

“Drift?” Ratchet spun around. “Drift don’t leave! Don’t you dare leave!” He ran past Drift again, disappearing in the rain.

He finally pulled his servo away from his intake and sobbed. “It’s for the best.” He mumbled, staring at the energon on his servo. Drift found himself picturing Ratchet’s ideal life. The medic would have a small cottage far from the cities, in a crystal forest, bitlets would follow his peds everywhere. He would read at sunset, and he’d read to his family, cozy and happy. They would never need to worry about fuel, safety, or the police. 

Drift would be a ghost, someone’s name that was never spoken to the bitlets.

Drift would die here, in his alleyway, processor fried or valve leaking.

He would leave Ratchet with the broken promise.

* * *

“Drift?” His peds didn’t stop, as he jogged through the rain, ignoring the pain in his plates. Another alleyway, and there was nothing. And another, and another. “Please Drift, we can talk, okay?” He finally stopped. “Please, we can talk, we can figure this out.”

“Ratchet, what are you doing?” Pharma hissed running towards him holding a poncho to him. “Get inside, your poor frame!” He pulled Ratchet along.

“I need to talk to him.” Ratchet stumbled after Pharma.

“You’ll find him after the acid storm, now come on, we need to get you into a soak now!”

He gave in, running alongside Pharma, spark aching. He couldn’t find Drift.

_Why did I call him that? Of all the names I had to call him ‘deadlock’? I should have never said that to him. Drift wherever you are I’m going to explain everything._

Ratchet rested his servo over his chassis, feeling the weight of the vile next to his spark.

Pharma rushed them into the clinic and pulled Ratchet into the tanks, staring a soak and jumping in himself. He said something, his intake was moving and Ratchet nodded along, numb as the realization struck him. Pharma’s arms pulled him in, his digits traced along Ratchet’s plates, downwards.

_Drift please come back._

* * *

“Ratchet what are you doing?” Pharma yelled.

Kaon was going to be bombed, they were going to be bombed. Pharma knew it and told him and thus they started to pack up the clinic and push everything into a shuttle frame. It was almost done, almost everything. Ratchet stood in the empty clinic, feeling empty himself.

Drift never returned.

He looked for the speedframe in public, but never caught sight of the white and grey frame. 

He needed to fix it, to say he was sorry to the sweet speedster, maybe sneak him into Iacon? Maybe he could protect Drift from the war? They could escape it together, escape Cybertron.

The last thing he said to the mech struck his helm and his spark sank. Drift stayed away, because of him, he called him that. Ratchet’s intake felt dry and he stepped into the room where Drift was held, where they spent hours chatting, bonding, where he fell in love. 

With a shaky vent he sent a vile down, along with a note.

If he was lucky Drift would find this, and maybe that could make up for something.

Maybe they could find each other after the war, and start over?

He turned and left the empty clinic, passing Pharma who was doing one last check before loading up.

* * *

He heard the shuttles and seekers wailing above, he saw their shadows. The screams filled the air as Kaon turned upside down, mechs ran, some held bitlets, others collapsed and sobbed. They made their way to the mines, to some form of safety.

Drift fought through the tidal waves of panic, he pushed through the screams and towards the one place he needed to be. The clinic.

He avoided that area because that rainy day, he saw Ratchet in public sometimes, and he would duck out, hide away from the doctor. Where he belonged. He never planned on going back, never planned on seeing Ratchet again.

He wasn’t going to drag Ratchet down. Ratchet wouldn’t waste his time on him.

Drift could do one thing right, he could at least die right, by making sure Ratchet was safe. He flew down the road towards the clinic.

The jets above howled as they got closer, and closer, their bombs whistled screams of devastation filled the air shortly after.

Drift ran into the clinic. “Ratchet?” He called, running past the waiting room, to the other rooms, every operating room, ever closet, every storage area. Empty.

The whole place was empty.

Drift finally slowed and made his way to the one place they knew by spark, his old room. He stepped in, it was empty and clean. “He got out.” He smiled. “He got out.” He inhaled, it was shaky.

The jets passed, whistles followed.

“I’m such a fragging fool.”

A bomb tore through the roof and slammed down on his old berth, Drift was thrown back and the clinic collapsed.

He woke several cycles later, his processor screaming error after error at him. Drift ignored it all, he knew this feeling, the cool pulling at his limbs. He blinked and stared at the ruins. The metal and brick were thrown together, mashed into this twisted pile of what once was.

Drift vented.

He was dying again.

Why couldn’t he just die offline for once?

“I’m such a fool.” He croaked out, he could’ve ran to the mines, out of the city, but no, he had to go back, had to return in. For what? “Ratchet.” He did it for Ratchet, the only mech that seemed to care about him, the only mech that worried about him. 

“Yea?”

Drift stilled and a white frame sat in front of him. “Ratchet?”

The doctor smiled, it was sad, spark broken. “Not exactly.”

“Ah, my processor is just that damaged?”

He nodded.

“Hey, at least I’m not alone.” He smiled, it hurt.

“Drift,” Ratchet leaned forward, his servos ran over Drift’s helm. 

He laughed, energon sputtering out of his intake and down his chin. “Don’t.”

“Do you want to talk?”

He nodded. “I want to say it.”

“Okay, I’ll listen.”

Drift licked his lips, he was dying, this Ratchet was fake, but it comforted him, but at least he could finally say everything to Ratchet now. “I’m sorry. I know I messed up big time, and I know there’s no way I can fix it. But I want to go back, where it was only you and me in that room. I want to feel like that again, feel like I was worth something, and that I wasn’t alone.” He sobbed. “I miss you, I missed you so much Ratchet. I know now that I can’t ever be part of your life, but I wanted to be, I wanted it so badly that I didn’t think what might happen to you. Maybe this is a good thing.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s a good thing, you can move on, forget about me.” He smiled as hot tears ran down his face plates. “You can live your happy life, just don’t think about me.”

“You know I won’t.”

“You’ll have to.” Drift huffed. “Can I hear you say it?”

Ratchet nodded and leaned forward, his servos held up Drift’s helm.

Drift’s neck ached as he held his helm up to Ratchet’s. “Please, I need to hear you say it.”

“I love you Drift.”

“Again.”

“I love you Drift.”

“Again.”

“I love you Drift.”

“I love you too Ratchet.” 

He groaned as voices filtered through, Drift hissed as Ratchet faded away. “No, please, don’t go.” He sobbed out, his voice was weak.

“There’s someone down here.” Someone called.

A bar was thrown off his frame and Drift looked up, eyeing a massive silver war frame. “Goodness, we need a medic!” He snapped and leaned down. “Hey, can you hear me.”

“Yea.”

“Megatronus!” Another warframe rushed forward, the medic symbol sprayed on, he leaned down. “He’s really bad.”

“Fix him up, we’re not leaving anyone behind.” Megatronus turned to the ruins. “Has anyone found any supplies yet?”

Drift shook his helm. “No supplies, they took it all.” He croaked out.

Megatronus hissed. “The medics knew about it, willingly packed away all the supplies and escaped the jets?” He snarled and vented, his shoulders dropped. “Who bombs a whole city?”

* * *

The alarms wailed through the base, red lightning flashed in every corridor, every room, every hall, there was no escape. No escape from the terror that hung over the Autobot base. The angry red only highlighted the terror in everyone’s optics, the way their frames froze, or shivered, the chattering of plates. Over it all there was a single message that hung in everyone’s processor: will they survive?

Ratchet pushed that feeling, that simple question deep down, under his peds till he stomped it into the ground below him. Instead he muted his emotions, focusing on the task at hand, rushing the injured and unfit into the medbay, and standing guard. The last mech hobbled in and the alarms stilled. His spark raced.

Ratchet held the blaster up and slammed his fist down on the lock, hearing the other medics yelling at him. Alone he stood in the cold hall, the blaster shook in his servos. He was the last line, the only defence between the untamed Decepitcons and his patients. 

He shouldn’t do this in battle, but he shut his optics and vented, focusing on something, a weight, to him it was part of his frame after the years. The vile, Drift’s vile, it was all Ratchet had of the mech, the smallest but most important part of a mech. He pictured Drift there, next to him, behind him, or just holding his shaking servo. Those kind soft optics crinkeling, that tender smile.

Accompanied by the drifter through it all, through all the spark ache, the madness, the horror that he had seen. That Drift had been there with him this whole time. That the mech survived the bombing in Kaon, that Drift had escaped in time, had pulled himself from the Deadend and was far away from this war.

That the mech he was in love with didn’t die.

The roar of engines and stomps echoed in the hall and Ratchet clutched the blaster to his shoulder. Painful twangs of blasters tearing into metal reached his audios, he hardened his tanks, buried the absolute terror under his peds, and imagined _that_ mech, standing next to him, smiling and mouthing ‘it’s going to be okay, you can get through this. I’m on the other side. And I’m right here Ratchet.’

The hall filled with smoke and Ratchet hacked, his optics leaked and he stumbled back, spark racing. Heavy peds filled the hall and the buzz of comm signals filled the air.

Ratchet pulled himself up and shuttered his optics, the hot barrel seethed into his chassis, right over his spark, he wasn’t alone now.

A mech stood over him, cold, composed, energon littered his frame, his paint coiled up due to the burns of the blaster shots. He was a speed frame, a cheaply made one, a cold construct, Ratchet could easily pick up where the factory skimmed. Mods covered his frame helm to ped. White, grey, yellow and red, angry colors, elegant colors, danger. But the way the mech’s intake twisted, the optics that hid under the fuming red visor.

It all tore through his processor and his spark, he knew this mech, he knew this mech so well that he could trace the wires in his chassis blind, that he could feel every edge of the mechs frame under his servos, he knew every scratch, every mark, every old syk mark and date them with a glance.

“Drift.” It was so weak, Ratchet wasn’t even sure it was a sound, if he even called the mech’s name. In a moment that image of Drift standing next to him, holding his servo softly saying ‘I’m right here Ratchet’ shattered.

Why?

Because, Drift was right there, right there, a ped step away from him, with a blaster against Ratchet’s chassis.

* * *

“Drift.”

His intake tightened, his vision blurred, as everything, once again came crashing down on him. The burn in his lines fueled him, it pulled at his senses, called to a side of him he never knew existed, it made him faster, violent, it distorted the world around him and all he had to focus on was whoever ran from him. He ignored the howls of pain, the pops of their sparks fading. All of it he pushed down, he buried it under the mental image, a simple tiny image that somehow brought him peace through it all. Or at least put a cheap mask over the ugly truth.

The image of that night he surprised the doctor, that night that took so long to plan, to save up for. All for that happy smile, that giddy look, that told him he was worth something to at least someone. That he had a purpose, a function, and if it was to make one mech happy, that he would be more than okay with. 

That freeze frame of Ratchet’s utter delight in seeing him again, that’s all that kept Deadlock going. A false hope that somehow the doctor escaped the bombing and after the war they would find eachother again, maybe in a park, maybe while rebuilding, maybe where the clinic once stood he would find the doctor standing there waiting for him.

Deadlock was too slow, the clinic caved in and there was no sign of Ratchet anywhere. He laid under those ruins for jours, his frame mangled, his processor fuzzy, the fake Ratchet sat with him, and they talked, and talked. He finally spoke his spark out to that mech, saying everything he had wanted to say to Ratchet for ages. Every tiny little thing, from what he adored from the mech, what his fears were, what it felt like to shoot up syk, to what he wanted to share with Ratchet. He didn’t want to give up a vile of his energon, he wanted to give his spark.

Maybe then he could find a purpose, a home, somewhere he belonged and everything would be okay. 

Deadlock didn’t know how many times he said that he loved the doctor under those ruins, how many times he wished he was fast enough, or how many times he pleaded to say goodbye. 

Now he didn’t have to.

For the first time he had gotten them, Deadlock felt the weight of his mods, his blades, his rifles, pistols, blasters, it all felt so heavy. It bored down on his frame. 

He didn’t pull the trigger, hearing a ping, he responded, saying the medbay was cleared. His blaster was pointed down, away from the spark that he so desperately wished would allow his spark to just graze it.

The visor was a great idea, sure it helped him see through flash bombs, smoke, and protect his sight, but right now it hid his optics. It hid his shock, it hid that little piece of Drift. 

Ratchet had changed, he was older, it showed, he was stressed, his frame had the universal markings of medic, white and red. And on his chassis, right where his barrel was, that frowning Autobot badge glared up at him, judging Deadlock, shaming him. 

Deadlock ignored it, slipping his rifle under his arm. “Doctor Ratchet.”

“It’s medic Ratchet now.”

His spark fluttered with life, excitement, he was alive, Ratchet was alive, and a medic and an Autobot. That didn’t matter, Ratchet was here, he was alive. “Medic Ratchet,” He smiled, it was small, too small.

“Drift,” His servo slipped into Deadlock’s, he pulled it close. “I…” He fiddled with the claws, those were new. “I can't believe you’re alive. I thought that the bombing,” He trailed off, his servos were so warm. 

“They, yea, they missed me, I guess.” He laughed, it was dry. This wasn’t right, none of this was right, Ratchet wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to be on the front lines, he was supposed to be off world, hidden away. That frowning Autobot badged bored into him. “Did they miss you?”

“I was pulled away, Pharma got the message and anyone important was ushered out before they dropped the bombs.” Ratchet said softly, still tracing his digits, still toying with his claws.

His spark was torn in two, with a sting of words. 

Anyone important was ushered out before.

Anyone important was ushered out.

Anyone important.

He sucked in the cool air through his vents and his frame rattled. Ratchet knew, he knew about the bombs, he knew for a while, the clinic was empty, all the supplies were gone, everything was gone.

Ratchet knew, and he knew that Drift was still there, that Drift would still be in the blast radius, that Kaon had no bomb shelters, no safety. That no matter where he ran he would not be spared, and in all his panic and fear he raced to the one place, the one mech that he wanted to spend his last few moments with, clinging to that frame and feeling something besides utter terror.

Ratchet left him to die.

It hurt to recoil away from those warm servos, he shook, the drug still ran through his frame.

The medic stared up at him, with confused soft optics. “Drift.”

His upper lip rose up in a scowl. “Deadlock.”

The medic gasped. “No,” He shook his helm. “No, no, you’re, no, you’re not that, that’s not you. Your name is Drift. You’re not a deadlock, you’re not that Deadlock, and-”

Deadlock turned away from the medic, his spark ignited with something, he had been dancing with it for awhile, for so long, he knew this, hate. He was in love with hate, and this hate, it was stronger, more potent than before. 

He was in love with loathing.

Deadlock’s heavy peds pushed on.

“Drift!” The medic called.

He pressed on, it didn’t matter to him, that medic was nothing, it was a lie, a stupid lie that Drift fell in love with. That foolish drifter.

“Don’t leave, don’t you dare leave me!”

He stopped, the hate, the loathing it filled his helm, he spun around cutting the distance between them in seconds, his energon covered servos collided with the medics’ throat. With a deafening thud the medic was pinned against the medbay door. Deadlock towered over him, his vents were uneasy, he couldn’t do it, not now, it was too soon, Drift had only just died. 

He couldn’t kill Ratchet, or whoever was in front of him now, it wasn’t Ratchet. Ratchet died. His Ratchet died.

The medic squirmed and shivered, his pretty blue optics stretched wide. “Dri-”

“I never left,” He corrected. 

“What?”

“I NEVER FRAGGING LEFT!” He yelled, his audios rang, spit splattered onto the medic’s face. “Drift never left the deadend. Drift heard the shuttles, my world was filled with screams of destrate carriers, scared mecha all scrambling like rodents to the mines. Drift didn’t follow them to the mines. Drift fought against the tidal waves of mecha to reach the deadend, to the clinic. Drift found the clinic empty, Ratchet wasn’t there, Pharma wasn’t there, there were no patients, no supplies, it was empty. Then the bombs fell.”

The medic shuttered, Deadlock could feel him swallow under his servo.

“I laid there under those ruins, alone, mangled and leaking, hoping that you escaped to the mines, or out of Kaon, or to Iacon, somewhere safe, that you didn’t die. I hoped you escaped this never ending pit of a war, that you left Cybertron and hid away from it all. I laid there in so much pain, begging my spark to keep a light, so that by some unknown force you would be far away from this.” He ached, the ugly truth tore through his spark. 

The Autobot badge, the polished clean frame, those confused optics. This wasn’t his Ratchet. “I don’t-”

“I wasn’t important, you never bothered to find me when you heard the news, never looked. You had time to pack up, to be ‘ushered’ out, you even had time to dust. Drift wasn’t important.” He snarled out, hearing himself say it after all these years. He was trash, scrap, waiting to be recycled into the next patch of cold constructs. Deadlock was a deadlock, and no one ever cared about a deadlock. His frame rattled as he struggled to vent.

A warm servo rested on his face, it rubbed comforting circles right under his optic. “Drift, please, let me explain, we can talk. We can talk about us, okay?”

He stole himself again, fought back that hot sting under his optics. “There was no us, there never was. It was you and your career, it was you and Pharma, it was never you and Drift.” He spoke, each word was a solid wall, a wall he threw at the medic. “Ratchet and Drift never existed, why? Because Drift wasn’t important to you, to Ratchet. And I know that now.” He said it, he finally said the truth. 

Ratchet shook, his optics started to leak. “No, we can fix this, please just talk, we can talk.”

“This isn’t something you can fix with a tool, or additives. You can’t fix this, so don’t, quit while you’re ahead. Do what I should’ve done.”

“No!”

He slammed the medic against the door again. “You’ll have to, because the next time I see you, I will kill you.” Once more he slammed the frame against the door, letting go and watching the medic sink to the floor. 

His frame shook, and he sobbed, curling up, his cries echoed in the hall.

Deadlock snarled and turned away, marching down that hall, down to his next target. His mods and weapons felt lighter.

He hated that mech, hated that he cared, hated that Drift cared, that foolish drifter fell in love with that mech. Most of all he hated himself. That no matter what he longed to go back, to that image he had to Ratchet, the pure joy, and happiness in that snapshot in time. He wanted to go back, and collapse in those arms, and sob. That Ratchet would be there, always waiting for him, that Ratchet was with him in the ruins, that Ratchet knew about how he felt. That was the Ratchet he fell in love with.

His spark longed for that, longed for that night once more, where it was only them, and that tiny promise he made to that Ratchet that day. That he would build a home for them, and he would do everything he could to be with that Ratchet.

He hated unrequited love.

That Ratchet knew, he had always known that Drift had loved him, but he never said it. Drift was a coward. 

That pitiful mech behind him wasn’t Ratchet. It was a far cry from the mech that grinned with satisfaction that the idiot of a drifter returned to him. 

When did his peds stop moving?

Deadlock turned back, visor up, he listened to the sobs, they were wet and heavy, and full of remorse.

The medic didn’t take his optics off of him, they were full of tears, hot wet tears that stained the mech’s face. His servos were fast enough, they kept wiping away trails but new ones formed and were cleared away. Somehow under it all, he saw it, that small soft glance that hardened with each broken sob. It was a shattered spark, shattered into a million pieces, far too many to repair. But under it all laid something he hadn’t seen in 2 million years, unrequited love.

It was almost the same look that his Ratchet had that night.

That look of love.

He couldn’t speak anymore, his intake was too tight, and the tears would not stop, the medic only mouthed one thing ‘I love you Drift’.

His optics hardened and he turned away. “I loved you, Ratchet.”

* * *

Ratchet curled in on himself, still sobbing, unable to piece together the world around him, he didn’t want to. He wanted nothing more than to let a Decepticon’s ped to stomp his helm into the floor. That wouldn’t happen, of course it wouldn’t, no he had to suffer through this. 

That look that Drift had, that hurt, beraytal and anger, so much anger, that compared to nothing but that faint glimmer of what could have been. Drift had loved him since the start, he still loved him after everything he did, that deep down under all that hate was that compassion. That intimacy he never shared with Ratchet.

That Ratchet knew was there, and never once acknowledged the fact that Drift loved him.

Another broken sob clawed its way out of his intake.

There was no fixing this, no repairs, no replacements. His servos and skills could not save this, couldn’t save Drift. The next time they crossed paths, Ratchet would die.

Those red optics, what happened to the bright yellow ones? When did Drift change into Deadlock?

When the bombs fell.

When Ratchet abandoned him.

It hurt so much, his chassis ached from sobbing, his intake was tight and dry, and he was sure he couldn’t cry anymore.

_“I loved you too Ratchet.”_

Another wave of tears ran down his face plates. 

Drift loved him, had always loved him.

And Ratchet turned Drift into Deadlock.

He was so tired of crying. 

* * *

The wind had stopped, the snow didn’t crunch anymore, the fluffy snow hardly made a sound. Shimmering white stretched to the horizon, the clouds haven’t parted yet so it was white, blinding white. Motionless the world waited.

Only specks of red and blue dotted the white landscape, a frame, a jet, he was still, one of his wings were twisted and warped beyond recognition. The only sign of the mech’s functioning was the faint puff of warm air.

His spark stilled the moment his optics locked onto the jet, he felt the weight of his mods, his weapons, the blasters and blades on his hips. His spark curled inwards and his frame felt cold. Deadlock ground his denta, claws digging into his servo, energon bubbled up between his digits.

He knew this feeling, knew it better then the mech in the mirror, he fragged this feeling, made love to it, it bonded with his spark and it stayed there. In his chamber, festering and growing until it spread through his lines, to his plates, his whole frame was this single feeling.

Hate.

It wasn’t just hate.

He loathed, destested, despised.

It was cold and fueled his being.

It wasn’t just a jet he was staring at, it was Ratchet, the kind smiling mech that once filled that space in his chassis, the doctor that gave him false hope. The mech that saved his spark when it should’ve ended. 

Deadlock shifted into his alt mode, engine roaring, and he floored it over the snowy plains.

Pharma spun, his hollow face stretched in shock and life beamed over his tired frame, he screamed and ran, jumping off the cliff. Deadlock followed him, shifting into his alt mode as the ground disappeared below him, he pulled a blade out and sunk it into the sheet of ice, Pharma spiraled down and his frame sunk into the icy water below. Deadlock jumped off the ice, landing on a boulder, Pharma scrambled to the top, gasping, his frame shivering as he pulled himself out of the freezing water. 

“You? The deadlock from the clinic?” He gwaked and rose to his shaky peds. 

Deadlock sneered, his blade shined in the faint light that cut through the clouds.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” He panted, his vents struggled to push the water out. “Why?”

Deadlock grip tightened on the handle, that feeling raced through his frame, it raged and ached deep inside of him. “Because of him.”

“Then go kill him, I did nothing to you!” Pharma’s frame swayed in the wind, he wasn’t fueling.

He slid down the boulder. “He hurt me, he loved you, I know he feels you, that you feel him, and I’m going to make you hurt, so that he can have a little taste of what pit he dragged me through.” Deadlock snarled. 

“We’re not bonded, I never bonded with him.”

“LIES!” Deadlock ran forward, crossing the distance between the two of them, flipping the jet, watching the weakened frame collapse on the stones.

Pharma spat up energon, his dull optics stared up at Deadlock, wide with fear. “I never did!” His lone turbine screamed but slowed, desperate to fly off. “I NEVER LOVED HIM!” He scrambled back to his peds, backing away from Deadlock.

Deadlock hissed, once more rushing forward his blade slicing through Pharma’s chassis, cutting the mech in two, Pharma screamed and fell back, his peds still standing. A single vile rolled out of the leaking mess, it rolled and bounced between the rocks. Deadlock picked it up, his optics narrowing at it, a single piece of paper wrapped around it. 

Ratchet’s handwriting.

Ratchet’s vile.

Ratchet’s innermost energon. 

He seethed and turned towards Pharma, the half of a mech crawled away from him. He was tired of talking, his ped slammed down on Pharma’s frame, the sickening crunch and gush of energon soothed that feeling inside of him. Pharma screamed, and scrambled under him, his ped came down again, denting his wing and chassis. The feel spread through his frame and bubbled up under his optics, down his face plates. His ped stomped down, and down. Flattening the mech’s whole frame. 

He only stopped to watch the doctor’s optics dull and flicker.

Pharma stared up at him, optics pleading, mouth still moving.

Deadlock didn’t hear it, he didn’t want to hear it, his ped slammed down on Pharma’s helm, pinning the helm down on a rock. Energon gushed out of his nose, intake. He slammed his ped down, stomping down the mech’s helm again and again. Energon splattered across his peds and the icy rocks. The frame has stopped struggling and dulled, his ped didn’t.

He only stopped when the corpse below him was distorted, and disfigured beyond recognition. The cold air curled through his vents and Deadlock turned away from the still frame. The feeling hasn’t felt, it stayed, it was part of him now, the hate, the anger that iced over his wires. 

He left the corpse, knowing that no one would find him, no one would care, and if someone did find Pharma they would only know that hate had killed the mech.

Deadlock stood at the edge of a platue, venting, he fell on his aft and shivered, his optics hadn't stopped leaking. He called it leaking, it was leaking, he didn’t cry, he didn’t cry anymore. Drift cried, Deadlock didn’t. Another cloud of exhaust escaped his lip plates and Deadlock sneered down at the vile still in his servos. 

It was Ratchet’s, Ratchet’s innermost energon. Almost in the same vile Drift got him. He stared at the paper, peeling it off of the vile and flipping it open.

**Hi,**

**I know I messed this up, and I’m sorry, I hope this vile finds you and that we’re even now. You have a piece of me, and I have a piece of you. I’m sorry for what I said and what I did. I do care about you, and I think I do love you.**

**If you survive this war, find me.**

“It didn’t matter if you didn’t love him, he loved you, and I wanted to hurt him.” He hissed and ripped the paper up, he couldn’t stop leaking. He gave himself away to the one mech that was supposed to be there, supposed to never abandon him, Drift was a fool. Deadlock wasn’t. But it still hurt, the empty clinic, the shock in Ratchet’s optics when he saw Deadlock for the first time. 

Drift was Ratchet’s victim, Deadlock was Ratchet’s monster.

He wanted to throw it, watch the vile fly through the still air and splatter on the icy ground below. He should do it, throw out the bit of a ghost, a fairy tale that he followed blindly, the reason why Drift died and Deadlock existed. 

He should throw Ratchet.

He already killed Pharma, so why was it so hard to do the same with a vile?

“It’s his energon, his innermost energon, it is a piece of his deepest self. I gave him a piece of myself, he must’ve thrown it out, what else are you supposed to do with a drifter? A deadlock?” He vented, his frame shuttered. 

Deadlock couldn’t do it, Drift couldn’t do it, Drift was supposed to be dead, but somewhere, deep in his foolish love sick spark, Drift was there. And he couldn’t do it. He stared at the vile, a sickening sob escaped his intake. “I loved you, you knew that, you knew that and you still did what you did. You left me, did you even know that I ran to the clinic? That I searched for you? That my frame was broken and I fought so hard for you. I joined the cause for you, I became Deadlock for you? And you couldn't even stick around for me?” Each word was heavy in his intake, and he dragged them out to tear out chunks of his throat, raking out painful sobs. “I loved you, I loved you so much Ratchet! And you ruined me! YOU LEFT ME!” He curled up over the vile, tears dripped down onto the glowing vile. “I hate you, I hate you so much,” He whispered to the vile, wishing it was Ratchet, wishing Ratchet was here, so he could finally say it and see the doctor’s shocked face, fed off of his reaction, fueling Deadlock’s hate. “I hate that I still love you.”

A sharp prick sunk into Deadlock’s neck, he snarled and spun around, plating flashing out, he froze. 

He wasn’t alone, a creature floated a little away, long lines spiraled around it, strange red optics stared at him.

Deadlock pulled his blaster out, his other servo shoved the vile into his chassis. He would have to hunt Ratchet down later. He ran forward, his peds grew heavy and he stumbled, and fell, his blade clattering next to him. His frame grew heavy and Deadlock’s processor slowed. 

The creature floated over him, a sick smile spreading across it’s intake. “My, my, this one is more active then the last one, this subject killed the old one. I hope you promise the same potential as the first subject.” 

Deadlock shivered as his frame started to shut down, his tears freezing over before he fell into inky darkness.

The Quintession hummed and slipped it’s tentacles under Deadlock’s frame. “Such a strong subject.”

**Author's Note:**

> Things to note:  
> Deadlock is FUCKING PISSED!  
> Ratchet has made a bowl of regretti!  
> They just need to talk...TALK DAMMIT!


End file.
